Mellifluous Murmuring
by Gold That Glistens
Summary: Sherlock is being melodramatic. John's girlfriend breaks up with him. Greg realizes he is old. Molly examines her life. Love and music intertwine to create a mellifluous symphony. Mostly John/Sherlock with a touch of Molly/Lestrade.
1. Chapter 1

"If music be the food of love, play on  
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,  
The appetite may sicken, and so die."  
\- William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

* * *

 _ **SHERLOCK HOLMES**_

When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains is the truth.

That is the rule Sherlock lives by. For it does not do to make assumptions about any aspect of life. It is almost a guaranteed law of nature that one who does make assumptions, ultimately makes an ass out of themselves, like that blithering idiot Anderson. Sherlock is sometimes astonished that an organism with such idiocy as Anderson can function in everyday life. Really, he would expect the best of the best on the police department to be more like John. John is quite brilliant, even though his immediate exterior suggests a rather average intelligence and bland personality.

Sherlock shakes himself. _This is the problem_.

For the past four weeks and three days, Sherlock has been feeling... strange.

When Sherlock looks at John, he gets a swooshing feeling in his stomach. Sherlock had first hypothosized that the N-alkane-5-hydroxytryptamide he had been experimenting with may have caused him to secrete more stomach acid than usual, irritating his stomach. However, when the feeling persisted, Sherlock decided that it was not the tryptamide, but rather something pertaining to John's presence.

Similarly, when Sherlock talks to John, he sometimes feels as though his heart is constricting in an abnormal way. Sherlock was initially worried and thought he might be having heart attacks. However, when the feeling continued whenever he talked to John, he determined that, yet again, there was not something wrong with his body, but rather something that happened within his body when around John.

When Sherlock found that his thoughts too often drifted to John, he was disturbed. The first cause that came to mind was some type of brain tumor that caused him to fixate on a subject more than usual, and the brain tumor might also explain his stomach and heart problems. However, Sherlock soon realized that he did not have a brain tumor when he tricked his way into getting his brain scanned at the hospital. His brain was wrinkly and wholesome, no tumors in sight.

Sherlock then turned to the only other possible explanation. He might be possibly experiencing a common human aliment that involved the neurochemicals dopamine, oxytocin, estrogen and testosterone. Normal people referred to it as love.

"Problem?" John asks, breaking Sherlock out of his thoughts.

Sherlock takes in John's haggard face and thin lips. "I might as well ask you the same question."

John sighs. "She dumped me. As usual. Says she doesn't want to have a boyfriend who would rather spend time with his insane flatmate that with her."

Sherlock sniffs and continues playing his violin, looking away from John. He would be happy if no girl asked John out ever again, but unfortunately, it cannot be denied that John was attractive. John's strong arms, kind eyes, and adorable eyebrows made an extraordinarily charming male. Sherlock mentally chastises himself; he cannot believe he thought the word 'adorable'. What was he becoming? And anyways, John was not adorable. Hidden behind a layer of atrocious jumpers, is a muscular body. Sherlock licks his lips.

"Sherlock. Are we still going to that party put on by the Scotland Yard? I could do with a bit of fun after this god awful day."

Sherlock's face flushes as John looks into his eyes. Goddamnit. Sherlock does _not_ have a crush like a middle school girl. He does not become infatuated with others, does not feel sexual attraction, and is most definitely not in love with his straighter-than-a-ruler flatmate.

Sherlock shrugs. "If we must," he replys and turns his back to John to look out the window

John's hand brushes Sherlock's back as John turns to trudge to his bedroom. Sherlock feels his heart hammering in his chest at the whisper of a touch.

 _Bugger it_. There is no denying it now.

Sherlock faces the facts. He has not been poisoned by chemicals, has not had any heart attacks and does not have a brain tumor.

So the improbable remains: Sherlock Holmes, the brilliant consulting detective with a heart of liquid nitrogen is in love.

Sherlock wails away at his violin with a new found frenzy.

Sherlock remembers one of the books John made him read in one of John's moods to "enlighten" Sherlock about English culture. Sherlock would have deleted it long ago, but, well, it was John.

 _If music is the food of love as that bloody Quivering Bayonet person said_ , Sherlock thinks, _then I will very well play on_.

Sherlock screeches loudly on his violin. Life as he knew it was over. For Sherlock was in love.

* * *

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." - A.C. Doyle


	2. Chapter 2

"Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness."  
\- Maya Angelou

* * *

 _ **JOHN WATSON**_

John collapsed on his bed. _Well, that had been a bloody awful day_ , he thought. Sherlock's violin wailed, almost sounding as if it were responding to his misery.

His girlfriend, his beautiful kind wonderful girlfriend dumped him. And he knew he deserved it.

When he smiled at her, he pictured inky curls instead of dark brown hair. When he hugged her, he imagined broad angular shoulders instead of smooth soft arms. When he kissed her, he envisioned thin pink lips instead of plump red ones.

She was perfect in every way, but she was not Sherlock.

He had not been in love with anyone since Mary. But when Mary and their unborn child had died in a car crash, John was devastated. Mary was no longer his wife, and he was no longer expecting a child. Mary had become a statistic, one of the thousands of people who die in car crashes every year; she existed only in his memory.

John had nothing but the friendship of a man who had been best man at his wedding, so John had packed his bags and returned to Baker Street. On the first night back, he listened to the wailing of Sherlock's violin; somehow the music helped him get the first night of decent sleep in a while.

John discovered a surprisingly tactful and insightful Sherlock when he went down the stairs on the first morning. When John had wanted to run through the streets of London, and loose himself in the flood of adrenaline and dopamine, Sherlock took him along shouting deductions at him the entire way. When John felt especially depressed and had wanted nothing more than to apprehend criminals, perhaps even dying to save an innocent civilian in the process, Sherlock refused to take him.

"Why?" he had asked Sherlock.

Sherlock gave him a long look as he tightened his scarf around his neck. "I don't trust you to save yourself," he said simply. "You are not in the right frame of mind. If the chance came, you might do something heroically stupid to save another, when you know that nothing could be done to save the person. If you go out with me, chances are you will die by your own accord. And I don't want you to die." He paused and looked down at the floor. "I recorded something for you. I left it in the kitchen," Sherlock said sofly and turned to leave, swishing his coat behind him.

John had sat on the armchair thinking. He was shocked that Sherlock was able to perceive that about him; that his normally strong self-preservationist mind set had been eroded by his depression to the point that he wouldn't mind dying and might actually seek death as a respite for pain.

John had found an ancient battered iPod in the kitchen with a note "Composed by S.H.". John made himself a cup of tea and listened to the compositions, feeling the dull ache of sadness in his chest ebb away. He found his pain mirrored in the B flat minor of one song; he found hope and light in another melody. The songs were a cathartic release of his feelings. He felt relaxed enough to even fall asleep right on the couch. When he woke up the next morning after a deep and restful sleep, he discovered that someone had put a blanket over him and a pillow under his head. And for the first time since Mary's death, he felt content.

When he was ready, it was Sherlock of all people who encouraged him to begin dating again. John suspects it was probably indirectly Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson making sure that John didn't waste away into nothing, but he took it to heart, nevertheless.

And when he began to date brown haired women, he attributed it to the fact that Mary was blonde, and no one could replace Mary. But when he began dating tall slender pale women, who were somehow still not enough to keep images of his flatmate out of his head, he began to realize he had a problem. He was beginning to fancy his flatmate.

He knew his girlfriend deserved someone better; someone who would make her happy and love her for who she is, not for who she resembles; someone who is not a crippled middle-aged army medic in love with the rather insane Sherlock Holmes.

 _In love,_ John repeats the words in his head. He doesn't understand. He is straight. He has loved girls since elementary school. And yet, he thinks his roommate is stunning and would very much like to kiss him on the lips.

John sighs. Sherlock is married to his work. He made it very clear on the first day; there was no use assuming Sherlock would change anything now. Sherlock seems even more into his work than ever before.

John lays out the clothes for the party on his bed. He sighs and trudges to the bathroom to take a shower.

His heart aches. Unrequited love. How romantic.


	3. Chapter 3

"There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats"  
\- Albert Schweitzer

* * *

 _ **MOLLY HOOPER**_

Molly says goodbye to her cats as she walks out the door and sighs. She is turning into one of those famed cat ladies, the strange little ladies who live with thousands of cats and still manage to feel lonely.

She takes a cab to the Scotland Yard party and spends the entire trip self-consciously smoothing out her party dress. She hopes it was not too ruffly and that she had not over dressed. She touches her hair, which is carefully coiled into a bun at the back of her head in what she hopes is a sleek and clean look. She couldn't help feeling a bit nervous; parties always made her a bit nervous. Back in university, she was not the person who went to parties, and if she did, she would never dance. She spent her time studying which paid off in the end, she supposes.

When she arrives, she runs into Sherlock and John. Sherlock looks as gorgeous as ever and John seems a bit more lively than usual, his arm wrapped around Sherlock..

Sherlock opens his mouth to say something, but John elbows him hard in the ribs.

"Hello, Molly," John says smiling at her. "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank you, John," she responds, smiling. "Hello, to you two as well." Sherlock nods and smiles at her with what she might have thought of as a hint of jealousy, but she knows that can't be right.

Sherlock puts his arm around John in a physical gesture quite uncommon for Sherlock. Molly smiles at them. They are good for each other.

She had gotten over her obsession with Sherlock about the same time John's wife had died. She had decided that even if Sherlock had ever shown an interest in her, she would not like to date him. She realized that all he did was manipulate her into doing what he wanted. He made her feel like a small brown mouse, insignificant and rather stupid. And anyways, in the lab, she had watched Sherlock stare in a lovesick manner at John when he thought John wasn't looking, and when Sherlock looked away, she saw John stare in the exact same manner at Sherlock. They were obviously in love with each other.

Besides she had a new interest, Greg. As in Greg Lestrade. As in super sexy silver hair. As in warm brown eyes. As in the guy who actually noticed her. And the guy who was probably not a crazy super villain like Jim, which is always a plus.

Although she initially found Greg slow and average as compared to Sherlock, she now found Greg warm and intelligent and found Sherlock rather arrogant. When Greg came to ask her for help on cases, he brought _her_ coffee and knew just how she liked it. He was actually fantastically funny; he told her stories about interesting cases and humorous self-deprecating stories about himself. She liked that he was so modest. And he seemed genuinely interested in hearing what she had to say, laughing at her jokes and comforting her when one of her cats died. Talking with him was so easy. She took her attraction to Greg as a good sign, a sign that she was over Sherlock. Unlike her last love interest, Tom, Greg looks nothing like Sherlock; he's handsome in a different way.

Best of all was when Sherlock came in while she and Greg had been talking. She remembered catching a glimpse of Sherlock's face; Sherlock had looked completely astounded, as though someone had outsmarted him, and she remembered wondering what was wrong. After Greg left, Sherlock had faced her and said in almost accusing way, "He fancies you, did you know that?" She was surprised. _Greg fancied her?_ Then she caught herself. _Sherlock probably wants something._

"What do you want?" she had asked, folding her arms across her chest.

Sherlock had gaped at her. "Nothing," he said curtly. "Just surprising." John then walked in and Sherlock had promptly stopped talking and immediately gotten to work.

But Molly couldn't stop thinking about it. Sherlock hadn't asked her for anything that day. So unless this was a cruel trick of Sherlock's, Greg apparently fancies her. She certainly hopes so; she is starting to fancy Greg back.

"Molly!" Molly surfaces from her thoughts and is brought back to the party. Molly turns and sees none other than Greg waving at her from across the room. He grins at her and pats the seat next to him. Molly smiles at him and weaves her way through drunken Scotland Yard members. Molly can't believe that people have managed to get drunk already; the party started only an hour ago.

"Hi Greg," she said as she sat down. He smiles at her again and she feels her heart swoop. He is good looking in a good-natured way with a firm face and laugh lines around his eyes. His expressive brown eyes are perhaps her favorite trait of his.

"Hullo Molly. You look absolutely stunning tonight. Would you care for a drink?" He offers her a drink and she takes it, smiling internally. _He called me stunning,_ she thinks. _Score!_

"You look great as well," she responds and takes a sip.

He smiles and shakes his head. "I wish. How have you been?"

"Good," Molly says. "I woke up to the sounds of my cat Albert attacking a pineapple I bought, but besides that it was a pretty decent day."

Greg laughs. "A pineapple? God, cats are weird." He takes a swig of his drink and grins at her.

Molly smiles. "Yes, and then he brought the poor mangled pineapple to me as if it were some prey that he had captured."

Greg laughs again and Molly laughs with him. They talk about work and when they see Sherlock stomping about, looking rather like an overgrown toddler throwing a tantrum. They begin to gossip.

"Oh dear. Sherlock looks a bit mad," says Molly grinning at Greg.

"No kidding," says Greg watching Sherlock storm at an unfortunate couple.

"I'll bet it's because John is dancing with that her," Molly nods knowingly to John twirling a lady around on the dance floor.

"Oh bloody hell. She has to be about seventy years old! Sherlock can't be jealous, can't he? He can't be that thick about relationships..." Greg pauses to peer at Sherlock, who was now pacing. "Besides, I can't see him dancing."

Molly giggles at the thought of Sherlock dancing. "Well, he certainly looks jealous."

Sherlock had turned a truly magnificent vermilion color as John kissed the lady on the cheek and led her away to get a drink.

"I would have never thought he'd gotten so red with that deathly pale complexion of his," comments Greg mildly.

Molly giggles. "My my, his face is the exact color of a marvelously healthy liver."

Greg sprays his drink as he snorts with laughter. "Molly, you are brilliant. Did I ever tell you that?" He wipes off droplets of his drink off his pants. "And I am bloody disgusting."

Molly beams at Greg. _Brilliant he calls me. I think I'm in love._ Greg and her lock eyes.

 _I love his eyes,_ she thinks rather dreamily as Greg smiles at her, both completely oblivious to the shouting match between Sherlock and John happening a only few feet away...


	4. Chapter 4

_"_ If I were not a physicist, I would probably be a musician. I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music." _  
_― Albert Einstein

* * *

 _ **SHERLOCK HOLMES**_

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING, SHERLOCK?" John shouts, eyes bulging in his face.

"Bit not good?" asks Sherlock mildly. Sherlock was a bit drunk. A bit drunk in the sense that Anderson is a bit of an idiot.

John's presence is the melody in Sherlock's symphony. For ten minutes and thirty two seconds of Sherlock's life, the melody had not been present; John had gone waltzing off with some unknown woman. But when Sherlock had... _intervened,_ John's attention turned back to where it belonged: on Sherlock. The melody soared back into existence, a lush theme in the strings, rich with vibrato. Life is good.

"YES, I CALL ATTACKING AN INNOCENT OLD LADY A BIT NOT GOOD," screams John in an excessive fortissimo. Sherlock really wishes John would bring his voice down to a mezzo-forte. He is overpowering the accompaniment.

"I didn't really attack her," offers Sherlock. His voice is the counter melody, calm and smooth as compared to marcato anger of John's voice. He shoots a glare at the woman who took his John away from him, who returns his stare, her glare as icy as a flute on a cold day.

"IF YOU DON'T CALL PUSHING SOMEONE TO THE GROUND ATTACKING, I DON'T KNOW WHAT ATTACKING IS," shouts John.

"John, John. You mustn't focus on the negatives in life. While I did attack her, I did it for _your_ sake, so _you_ wouldn't get hurt," Sherlock smiles at John. Sherlock's countermelody resolves the theme, as understanding clicks into place in Sherlock's mind. Sherlock was merely protecting John. Sherlock is now ready to move on to a new theme, something lighter and less angry perhaps. _More like a love song,_ thinks Sherlock rather sappily.

John leans close to Sherlock; his lips are approximately 107 millimeters away from Sherlock's clavicle. Sherlock swallows hard, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing in his throat. "Sherlock, listen to me, mate. Don't be such a bastard. _She just celebrated her eightieth birthday two weeks ago. I am sure I can defend myself against an eighty year old. SHE IS THE ONE GETTING HURT. AND YOU ARE THE ONE BLOODY HURTING HER."_

Obviously John had not realized that Sherlock's countermelody had resolved the theme. John is continuing the same old boring theme. Sherlock sighs.

"Why can't you behave like someone normal for once, Sherlock? Why can't you just sit back, relax, enjoy the music, drink a beer? Why did you push her?"

Sherlock frowns at John. Why _did_ he push that old lady? He normally did not exhibit such juvenile actions and usually had a good reason to resorting to physical force. And what does John mean? He knows that Sherlock is not normal. His countermelody turns brooding with oscillating sixteenth notes.

"You know what? I'm sick of you right now."

Sherlock feels as though someone pushed him in the chest hard. He sneers at John. "Fine then. Enjoy the party."

He walks away swirling his coat behind him. He doesn't care. He never cared.

And he realizes what is wrong. There is no music. He puts his head in his hands.


	5. Chapter 5

"Where words fail, music speaks."  
\- Hans Christian Anderson

* * *

 _ **GREG LESTRADE**_

As he listens to Molly tell a story about Albert, one of her cats, he feels so incredibly old.

Molly is completely out of his league. Molly is incredibly clever; she is resilient and courage; she is an amazing listener in addition to being an all around interesting person. Furthermore, she is beautiful. He admires her silky brown hair and the way her cheeks dimple when she smiles.

If he were twenty years younger he might have gathered the guts to ask her out, but Greg is old. Not only is he old, but he is divorced, and his ex-wife cheated on him with _a PE teacher._ A PE teacher for God's sake. Is he that undesirable?

Greg once tried to distance himself from Molly to save himself the heartbreak of having her fall in love with a handsome young coworker. He spent about a week avoiding her for the sake of his heart, not visiting her in the morgue and not answering her texts. However, when he ran into her and saw her hurt face and listened to her ask what was wrong, he resolved never to do it again. His old heart would survive. Greg is content being her friend.

It doesn't help when she takes his arm or his hand when walking and he feels his heart beat a little faster. It doesn't help when she smiles at him, like he is special and amazing.

And is certainly doesn't help now, when she interrupts her story to ask, "Want to dance?"

"Dance..." His brain is a little slow on the uptake. She wants to dance? With him?

"It's OK if you don't want to," she smiles reassuringly at him, taking his hesitation as a negative. But as she turns her face away to take a sip of her drink, he can see the hurt written on her face.

"No, of course I want to dance!" he quickly says as he stand up. He holds out a hand to her. "Really, to be honest, the only reason why I hesitated was because I was checking to make sure you were really asking me to dance."

Molly laughed and stood up. "Don't be silly," she says as she takes his hand. "Of course I want to dance with you. Who else would I be talking to?"

They make their way out to the dance floor. He grins at her and they begin to dance. He feels his heart swell as Molly gives him a goofy grin and hopes that he does not look too stupid flailing around on the dance floor.

A slow song comes on and people pair up into couples, holding each other and swaying. He starts as he feels a hand on his waist. It is Molly's hand.

She looks up at him. "May I?" she asks taking his other hand. Greg nods not trusting himself to speak. He puts an arm around her shoulder and they sway together.

He holds her a bit tighter and breathes in the smell of her hair. She smells like apples and antiseptic; she smells wonderful. He smiles at her.

She smiles back and begins to mouth the lyrics of the song.

" _I don't need you; I want you  
You make me complete, through and through  
I wish you could know, that you would know  
How much I love you."_

As the last chord from the song lingered in the air, Molly reached up and kissed Greg on the mouth. Greg kisses back. _Oh God, yes,_ he thinks as he pulls her tighter.

They pull apart grinning. "Want another drink?" he asks. She nods and they grab drinks and make their way to sit down. He grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze. He kisses her cheek and relishes the softness of her skin. He feels giddy, like he climbed the tallest mountain in the world.

She smiles at him. "Really to be honest, the only reason why I had the courage to kiss you was because the song did all the talking."

Greg smiles at her. The dim light hits her eyes giving them an ethereal look. "Thank god for music." He kisses her again, unable to help himself.

They pull apart and just look at each other.

And stupidly, he says the first thing on his mind. "I'm too old for you, Molly."

She drops his hand and gives him a hurt look. "If you are going to reject me don't give me a rubbish excuse like that. Too old, honestly." She turns to walk away and Greg feels like an idiot.

"Wait, Molly!" _Goddamn, Greg. Get yourself together. She wants you and you just made her leave. Goddamnit._

Greg ran after her dodging various drunken people. "Molly, I am not bloody rejecting you! I like you! A lot! Come back, please?" He ignores the sniggers and looks of the people watching him chase her.

She stops and looks back at him. He catches up to her.

"Want to go outside and discuss this? All these people are giving me a bloody headache." He nods his head to the sniggered group to his left. To Greg's relief, Molly nods and takes his hand, leading him outside.

The cool air hits his face.

"So," starts Molly. She looks at him expectantly.

"Er. Well, I'm an idiot," admits Greg. "I like you. A lot. When ever I saw you at work, I couldn't help thinking how amazing you were." He pauses to look at Molly and shakes his head. Molly's presence seemed to make his tongue swell up. "I loved listening to you and I loved making you laugh. I would try to remember all the funny things that happened to me so I could tell them to you and hopefully you would laugh. But I never really acted on it because I was too old. I am too old."

Molly frowns. "You are ten years older than me."

"Yes," says Greg.

"Exactly," says Molly.

They both stare at each other for a while.

Greg frowns now. As he looks at her, she seems to grow more and more beautiful. "Molly, look. I have an entire head of silver hairs. You don't even have one. You deserve someone younger, someone handsome and smart. Someone who won't be chasing criminals at all times of the night." _Like the PE teacher,_ a little voice in his head says.

"I _like_ your silver hairs," responds Molly. "And Greg, I like _you_. You are being a complete idiot."

Greg finds he doesn't have a response.

"Now, do you want to go on a date with me? Or no?" Molly folds her arms in front of her. "If not, just _say so."_

"Yes. Of course I want to date you! But-"

Molly frowns at him.

"So yes. Just, yes," he says. He looks into her eyes and he leans down to kiss her. Once his giddiness has gone away, he realizes he hasn't kissed anyone in so long. He attempts to figure out where his nose goes so it doesn't crash into hers.

Molly leans into him, wraps her arms around him, and expertly kisses him on the lips. _Smart, savvy, and beautiful. God, she is perfect. I am a lucky man,_ he thinks.

Greg smiles at her. "I'm sorry I bungled this up, Molly. I won't do it again. And I'll make it up to you, I promise."

She nods and smiles at him, shivering a bit in the cold. Greg takes off his coat and wraps it around her, feeling on top of the world.

Life was perfect. It is a beautiful night, he is dating a beautiful woman, and the beautiful woman wants him too.

The only thing ruining it is the sounds of John and Sherlock having a shouting row in the bushes.


End file.
